THE RICHES OF SANTIAGO

BOOK ONE

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Chapter Four: Ferriers

The menacing soldier, keeping his eyes on the young men, stepped aside, holding the door open to admit a young officer smartly attired in a new dress uniform recently caked with mud at the ankles and dripping rainwater. He too looked closely at the young men all of whom stared back at him arrogantly. He focused his attention on Ortiz who held a glass half raised to his lips.

Just as he started to head his way, Ferrier, the proprietor, scurried out from the kitchen. Cosettes father, a heavy-set, bearded man in his mid-forties who wore a chefs toque and white jacket with buttons bulging around his stocky frame, originated from Marseille and had arrived in Barcelona under suspicious circumstances, at least according to his wife, Cosettes mother. Mme. Ferrier died at an early age, a tragedy only in her husbands mind, saving him years of marital persecution that he would have gladly endured for her sake. The love he could not spend on her mother, he proudly squandered on Cosette with a much happier result. From his station in the kitchen, he saw the young officer inspecting Ramon, and hurried to interfere. General, I am so honored! I am Gustave Ferrier, how can my poor restaurant serve you? We have tapas, and beer! Yes, you men must be thirsty, even in this horrid rain! Can I bring you beer?

The young sergeant, flattered to be confused for a general, and aware that the group of young men, all near his age, were staring at him, stood tall with his shoulders back, and affected a superior air. No, Senor, we need nothing. We have an important notice from the commandant of the garrison that we are posting all over the city. I require you to post it where it will receive the most attention. Cuxart called out, You could hang yourself over the bar and shove it up your ass, thatd get a lot of attention! The Crespan brothers joined in Cuxarts laughter.

The young officer turned his attention back to the group, this time focusing on Cuxart, but ignoring the insult. He approached them and pulled a circular from a leather bag hung from his shoulder, and held it in front of them. The army is looking for volunteers to join a magnificent expedition. Capitan Gaspar de Portola, the very distinguished Catalan hero, is forming a company of Catalan volunteers to join in the exploration of Alta California, the magnificent new frontier in the Americas. The expedition will bring honor and fame to all who participate. He walked back to Ferrier and, using a small hammer and brads also pulled from the leather bag, tacked the circular to the front of the bar. Turning back to the group of young men, he said This is a magnificent opportunity for those smart enough to see it. You could have a respectable career in the army. Better, I think, than wasting your lives drinking in a bar and shouting insults at your superiors. Yeah, but wed have to take orders from a horses ass, Cuxart responded. Ah, but a magnificent horses ass, Alos chimed in, to the general laughter of all but Ramon. The young sergeant pointed at Ramon. Youre not laughing. Do you want a better life?

Hed have a better life, Cuxart raged, if the Spanish got out of Catalonia and returned his familys land to him!

The soldier ignored Cuxart and awaited Ramons answer. Joining the Spanish army wont improve our lives, Ramon said softly. The sergeant shrugged. Theres great opportunity in the New World; you would see land that no one has ever laid eyes on before. Magnificent land. The officer glared at Alos. Yes, magnificent land. Land to work and settle. Land to build a dynasty, where your name could last 1000 years! But it wont be my land, Ramon argued. It will still be Spanish land, owned by the King. The sergeant shrugged. The King is here. The land is there. The King will need good men. Prove yourself and opportunity is yours. Im going and someday theyll know the name Ortega.

Ortega thanked Ferrier and turned toward the door, for the first time noticing the round man against the wall who was now sitting up looking at him. He hesitated, nodded at the man and turned to Ramon once more. If you change your mind, look me up. He left the bar, followed by the soldier guarding the rear and headed down the street toward the Ramblas. The bastard, Cuxart spat. Go to the Americas with the Spanish army to get land that we should already have right here in Catalonia! What bastards. If we could drive them out of Catalonia and back to Madrid, we wouldnt have any more problems, Alos griped.

Ramon wondered. His father believed that Spain was only a thorn in Catalonias side, not the cause of her woes. Of course, his father was full-blooded Castilian, so most Catalans considered his views suspect, but Ramon had never known his father to form an opinion without considered thought. He believed that, in its heyday, Catalonia had been in the right place at the right time, a port with a spectacular natural harbor near the eastern edge of the Mediterranean, a perfect location to receive the goods from northern Africa, a short hop through the Mediterranean from South to North, as well as to facilitate the trade from Italy, the western Mediterranean and all of western Asia. Goods to and from all of these locations passed through Barcelona on their way to and from all of Spain and Portugal, as well as much of the rest of Western Europe. The Mediterranean had been the center of world commerce and Barcelona was the perfect western capital of that commerce.

But as always, the world changed. Almost 300 years before, King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Catalonia noticed the increasing power of Atlantic based countries, Spain, England and France, and even relatively miniscule ones like Portugal and the Netherlands which were using their Atlantic ports to follow the course of the Portuguese mariners Henry the Navigator, and later Bartolomeo Diaz and Vasco de Gama, down the west Africa coast and eventually around Africas Cape of Good Hope to open another, nonMediterranean based, avenue to the riches of the far East. Ferdinand recognized the emerging importance of the Atlantic and understood the necessity of aligning Catalonia with an Atlantic power to sustain its own influence. He arranged a merger with the Kingdom of Castile by marrying his cousin, Isabella I, fusing the ancient power of the Mediterranean to the modern power of the Atlantic to form the Kingdom of Spain. Unfortunately for the descendants of Ferdinands Catalonian subjects, the balance of that power came quickly to rest in Madrid, not Barcelona.

And then, twenty-three years later, Ferdinand and Isabella set sail on a course to fund the ambitious plans of the young Italian mariner, Christopher Columbus, who set in motion the events that would finalize the shift of the worlds compass away from the Mediterranean and toward the Atlantic.

That, Diego Ortiz argued, was the ultimate cause of Catalonias decline, not Spains ill will or domination. That and the Catalan peoples own intransigence in refusing to recognize the shift in world affairs. Catalonia, he often opined, despite its industrious reputation, had become a nation of immature whiners that needed to grow up and change with the world. There was no secret, Ramon thought, to his grandfathers antipathy towards his father. I dont know, Xav. Even if Catalonia were autonomous again, even if we recovered our lands and were able to work them, wed only have what we were able to grow with our own hands. Wed work hard, so wed be able to feed ourselves, but its tough to compete when other nations are pulling gold and silver out of the ground. Cuxart sneered. What does that matter? Who cares that they have gold and silver? We work hard and were smart. We could run rings around them. As usual the Crespans agreed with their older cousin, but this time even Alos joined in. Sometimes, Ramon, I dont even know what youre talking about. Whats that got to do with why we cant farm, or work the docks? Because of the Spanish, there are no jobs, theres nothing. Maybe you should join the Spanish army, Cuxart said. Maybe youre afraid to stand up to them like a man!

Ramon jumped out of his chair, and if not restrained by Alos and Balenguer, would have leapt across the table at Cuxart. Cuxart had jumped out of his own chair but was backing up, away from the enraged Ramon. Ramon, hold on, Alos soothed. We cant fight among ourselves. He looked over at the cowed Cuxart. Rique, you need to apologize. Youre new here. Ramons been with us all the way. You dont know what youre talking about.

Ramon remained enraged, but Balenguers great strength restrained him. Cuxart held up his hands in surrender. Alright, alright, he said. I apologize. I didnt mean anything by it. It was just the heat of the moment. Keep your rotten mouth to yourself, Cuxart. If you ever want to find out if Im afraid to fight, just let me know where and when, Ill be there! Ramon swiped at Balenguers hands. Let me go, Jordi. Im through with this! Look, everybody, Alos continued, Ive got an idea you need to listen to.

The young men resumed their seats, Ramon still fuming. Across the room, the fat Spaniard rose unsteadily from his chair and, with a sideways glance at the feuding boys, staggered from the room and out into the street. For the first time, Ramon noticed the fat man wore a swooping mustache. Alos continued. Ive been thinking. Why just steal a few weapons? We could steal the whole cargo. The whole cargo? Jose Luis exclaimed. How? Hell, lets send them a real message, Cuxart blurted. Why burn a warehouse? Lets burn the ship instead! Why dont we do both? Alos asked.